Public Relations made Personal
by Mystic Moon Lady
Summary: VH. AU. Heartbroken, Hitomi leaves Japan to do PR for Van's corporation.


This is my first fic on so please read! and review if you've got the time!

Disclaimer: I do not own Escaflowne. Or it's characters. But I might have in another incarnation...

Public Relations Made Personal  
  
Chapter One: LEAVING ON A JET PLANE  
  
Hitomi Kanzaki closed her eyelids over her tired eyes and slowly released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Images flowed fluidly and vividly in her mind's eye. Her first and longtime love Amano's serious and compassionate face. Amano was now laughing teasingly at one of Hitomi's antics. Dearest Amano revealing to her, gently, that he had fallen irrevocably in love with Hitomi's best friend Yukari. Hitomi's seemingly overburdened shoulders slumped in her scandalously overpriced, first class (although rather comfortable and roomy) plane seat. Fortunately for her the seat was being charged on her new employer's credit. Hitomi glanced moodily out the window; you just know your life is getting pathetic if the most cheerful, opportune occurrence is company perks. It upset her even more to note the azure intensity of the Pacific sky. She sighed once more. For Hitomi, her current demeanor could be likened to girls who throw histrionics if upset in comparison to her normal serene self. Hitomi nearly smiled at that cynical thought.  
  
"Want to talk about it?" The nonchalant query came from the passenger sitting beside her, who until this very moment had done no more than type on his portable notebook.  
  
Hitomi really looked at the man, as if coming out of a coma (which was very close to the reality of her emotional state) for the first time since the plane took off. The man was clad in a dark, well-tailored designer suit with a crisp white shirt. Artistic, but manly, piano player hands rested on the keyboards of a laptop that had a certain, almost tangible, corporate aspect to them. The man would have looked like a walking advertisement for the image of typical (and yes, boring) corporate success if it were not for his long, straight as any corporate skyscraper, silky blonde hair, which was tied back with a black leather cord. And to clash further with his tarnished, American appearance, his casual drawl was cloaked with a British Isles tone. Hitomi searched her long unexamined memories as the single child of diplomats, and placed the soft, cultured accent in the south of England.  
  
It dawned on her that she was, quite impolitely, staring, probably not unusual for the Englishman, because he was frankly awe-inspiring. To her unrelenting embarrassment, he was waiting tolerantly for an answer. To his question. Now, what was it he wanted to know...? Ah, yes.  
  
"Talk...? What would I want to... talk ...about?"  
  
"The sad, and utterly silent sighing. The purple shadows under your eyes," the man listed, looking down at her upturned face, closely watching her barely changing expression. It was unbelievable that anyone could be so restrained and stoic. "By the way," he slowly drawled, his clipped accent softened, "my name is Allen. Allen Schezar, advocate." When she continued to gaze up at him intently, a little dazed, he laughed, startling Hitomi, and he removed his eyeglasses, and sardonically conceded; "I guess I deserved that for fishing for info! Can you tell me your name?"  
  
"Oh (" Hitomi started, "I'm sorry... I'm Kanzaki Hitomi. And I'm just very tired; that's all." Hitomi guard came up and her expression closed up fully. Allen, always watchful, discerned her wariness.  
  
"You know, whatever it is, it's not helpful or healthy for you to be reliving it." Hitomi's mouth opened to object, Allen went on, "that's all I wanted to say, that's all I'm going to say (for now. So Hitomi. How did you come about having such an obviously Japanese name, no offense, but besides your build," Allen eyed Hitomi's slim frame in a way that didn't come off as a depraved, male come on, "you don't look like the conventional Asian woman."  
  
Hitomi, for the first time since grasping the, although unfair, reality that she had differences that many could not completely accept, was not, in every respect, pissed off at hearing the much asked (and dreaded) question. She hated the feeling that usually came like clockwork after the Question. The feeling that she had to explain herself and her origins. Something about Allen's manner, however, his gentleness maybe, gave her an impression of nothing more than just genial curiosity.  
  
"My parents are both one half Japanese. So that makes me half Japanese, a quarter Irish (on my maternal side, and a quarter undisclosed American from my father. So, are you from the U.K.?" She asked smoothly.  
  
"Don't try to change the topic, and yes. Most of my family still resides in the small village near Stratford-Upon-Avon where I grew up. Your ancestry is really quite intriguing. You know, I'm part Irish." He then raised one very perfect eyebrow, and eyes twinkling he added, "I hope we're only quite distantly related." Hitomi couldn't help but laugh at this point. Allen smiled at that small victory.  
  
At this point, a pretty Japanese flight attendant with platinum blonde hair, violet eye shadow and liquid black liner rimming a pair of stunningly beautiful, almond shaped, dark brown eyes approached the two. The demure expression she sported as she served them a meal of Teriyaki noodles contrasted with the risqué cut of her navy one-piece uniform. It was low- cut and rose high on her perfectly tanned thighs. The flight attendant moved on, and Hitomi regarded her thick, sauce-covered noodles disinterestedly. Her gaze met a slightly altered Allen. Then she realized what the difference was (his face was no longer blue-tinged from the glowing screen of his notebook.  
  
"So what were you doing in Japan?" Hitomi asked, looking back down at her noodles, maneuvering her shrimp listlessly with her chopsticks.  
  
"Well, the food's good, and the girls are cute." He looked pointedly at the stewardess. Hitomi raised her eyebrow questioningly. He laughed and continued with, "no, that's not it really. One of my clients' daughters, er, bought clothing on, er...credit. Whose credit we've never quite figured out. That is to say, she just walked out of the boutique with her so-called purchases."  
  
Allen Schezar and Hitomi Kanzaki talked affably for the rest of the duration of their flight. They learned that they were both going to be staying in the Los Angeles area for sometime and Allen, who was familiar with area, offered to show her around. Hitomi, of course, accepted, however, revealing to him that she had lived in Malibu during her pre- teens. When Hitomi told him that she would be working as Public Relations Specialist for Escaflowne, one of the biggest mass media corporations in the world, Allen informed her that he was a close friend with the head executives and heirs to about twenty percent of Escaflowne, which is the biggest portion of the company not owned by shareholders. The two brothers, Folken and Van Fanel, were actually childhood friend of Schezar's and Van and Allen still corresponded and they still met every now and then.  
  
Another reason Allen and Hitomi got along so well was probably because they were both workaholics: the majority of the time the two were not eating or napping they spent on the their laptops. Allen reviewing his next client's case; Hitomi reading and re-reading every article, news story, and report on Escaflowne she could get her hands on.  
  
From the Internet pics she saw, Hitomi wondered how the majority of the shareholders could be happy with the young men who would one day own the lion's share of Escaflowne. Folken and Van were literally being stocked by the paparazzi and they were always in the press. Some PR specialists believed that there was no such thing as bad publicity, but a lot of consumers boycotted certain products just on the basis of what kind of image the product's producers, spokespersons, parent company, etc conveys. Folken Fanel actually wears what looks like black eyeliner on his cheekbone. Hitomi wasn't at all offended but what about Escaflowne's public image?  
  
It was Thursday night when Hitomi and Allen's flight landed in L.A. Hitomi was drained physically and emotionally. Being male and traveling light, it took Allen about thirty minutes to get through Customs; it took Hitomi however, an hour and a half. By the time she got through, she was shocked to find Allen waiting for her. She thanked him and insisted that he didn't have to wait. While that two argued over the matter teasingly, they came up to the bank of taxis and limousines.  
  
"Oh Hitomi, I forgot to ask, how are you getting h...where are you staying?" Allen asked.  
  
"Van Fanel said in an e-mail he sent me that I'll be staying in the guest house on his family's property. I'm going to take a taxi to the address he gave me. Hey! Stop worrying about me; I take pride in my independence. Oh, look(! There's a free taxi!" With that, she rushed towards the awaiting vehicle; however, before she could reach it Allen grabbed her by the shoulders to stop her. She turned her face up towards his to ask him why. He took out what looked like car keys instead of answering her right away.  
  
"Look, I've got a car parked not too far from here and I know exactly where Fanel View is." He hesitated, then continuing to hold eye contact with her he said, "Hitomi, will you trust me?"  
  
Hitomi, totally taken by surprise and because of that, she answered him truthfully. "Yes, I'll trust you but only until you give me reason not to."  
  
With that, the two walked to the airport parking lot, loaded their luggage in the trunk of Allen's sporty, yet classy, dark silver, luxury car, and they settled in for a long quiet ride.  
  
Amano. He was thousands of miles away. Well at least physically. It was only a matter of time before it became mentally, too.

Tell me what you think. review. flame if I made errors. Thanx.

-S.


End file.
